Pierced
by Bebedora
Summary: Just as a knife can stop a heart-so too can guilt. Whumptober Day 8-STAB WOUND CHARACTER DEATH


Pierced

[[Whumptober prompt—STAB WOUND]]

It all happened in slow motion.

The taunt. The turn. The blade, glittering in the twinkling lights of the ballroom. The look on the assailant's face, almost joyous as he plunged the knife into Laguna's chest.

A shot rang out and the man fell to the ground. Bullet right between the eyes. Kiros Seagill dropped the smoking pistol and dashed to his friend's side. He pulled the president into his lap, well aware of Laguna's labored breathing. The shaking. The chill sweeping over his skin, though it was flushed from adrenaline. Agony, twisting the features of his face.

And the blood. The metallic stench of blood.

Chaos ensued. Screams, hysterical sobbing. The frantic clack of expensive high heels on the translucent Estharian floor as their owners ran for cover. Champagne bottles crashing to the ground, their expensive contents wasted. It felt as if the walls were closing in around him.

Someone appeared at their side, silently pushing the crowd back. Guards swarmed seconds later, and the person knelt beside them.

"…"

"It's bad…" Kiros tore open Laguna's dress shirt, the lapels of his tuxedo already soaked with his life essence. The knife had gone in dangerously close to his heart. "Ward…I…don't know what to do…"

Uncharacteristic panic overtook him. Ward trembled beside him, his giant hands applying pressure to Laguna's chest. Blood pooled beneath his fingers, dripping down Laguna's sides. Soon, the back of his tuxedo jacket was sopping wet.

A voice, faint and barely discernable above the din of the frantic crowd.

"T-tell Squall…" Laguna struggled to breathe. "…so…s-sorry…"

"Dammit, Laguna! Stop talking!" Kiros immediately regretted his stern tone, but needed him to save his energy. He'd need every last ounce to survive.

Laguna feebly shook his head. Grabbed for Kiros' hand and held it as tightly as he could, but his strength was waning. The president struggled to keep his eyes on his friend. His tone was urgent. Knowing. "Please…Kiros…t-tell him…for…m-me."

Kiros didn't want to listen. He knew what Laguna wanted him to do. The thing that Laguna had been terrified of.

And he couldn't help but be angry at his dying friend.

Angry that he had procrastinated. Angry that he always had an excuse as to why he couldn't just tell Squall about his heritage. Angry that now the task fell to him—and he wasn't the right person for the job. Laguna was going to die and leave Kiros to clean up his mess one last time.

Laguna shuddered in his arms. Weak voice laden with pained pleading. "Promise…m-me."

Kiros' eyes flooded with tears. He reluctantly nodded his agreement, drops of moisture rolling down his cheeks and onto his friend's face. Laguna's blood was so warm.

"…"

"D-don't…w-worry…big g-guy…" Laguna tried to force a brave smile. "It's…gonna…b-be…okay…"

Ward hung his head, shoulders trembling as he tried in vain to hide his tears.

Laguna gagged, blood pooling in his mouth. Choking him. He clenched his eyes shut as his lungs screamed for air—only to be filled with his life essence. The president's eyes bulged with sheer, unadulterated panic. He was suffocating. His last moments would be spent toeing a fine line between terror and guilt. In agony as his destroyed heart gave out.

Kiros had witnessed death too many times to count. Each time, it was on a battlefield, in the midst of chaos. No time to stop. No time to mourn. Sometimes it was the enemy, sometimes it was a comrade.

But this time—he finally understood.

As his best friend lay dying in his arms, he finally realized what it meant.

Final. This was final. No full-life, no cure spells. No Phoenix Down. Laguna was going to die.

_Laguna was going to die._

"R-raine…?"

Kiros snapped himself from his thoughts. Stared down at his friend.

Laguna was smiling. Eyes welling up with tears, gazing to the heavens. He reached up with a shaky hand, coated in bright-red blood, and tried to grab whatever phantom he saw.

One last gasp. Blood cascading from his mouth down his chin, pooling in the divot between his collarbones. His outstretched hand fell, thumping to the ground beside them. Silver ring, slicked scarlet, clanking against the crystalline floor.

Around them, the room went silent.

_Every single one of these Whumptober prompts that I *should not be* writing because I have a book deadline is Saber_Wing's fault. Also, she's an awesome beta. _


End file.
